The Morning After
by insanitys.cowgirl
Summary: So, England and France spend their first night together...drunk. But that's another story. For now let's focus on what happened the morning after that...summary fail...just read the damn story!


**Ok, so this is for Michaelis, who wanted some FrUk! Hope you enjoy it and I didn't fail too badly! As always, I do not own Hetalia, or the characters. Enjoy peoples!**

"Angleterre..." The soft whisper combined with tender fingertips trailing over his neck and jaw finally convinced England to grant the Frenchman his full attention. The sandy-haired Brit blushed a rather attractive (in France's opinion) shade of rose pink.

"Wh-what, France?" England stuttered, glancing at the other man over his shoulder. He was met with softly glowing blue eyes and the most loving smile he had ever seen. His heart skipped a beat at the sight.

"Bloody frog..." He growled to cover his embarrassment. "What did you want you git?" France just chuckled as the Britton's prickly outer shell reappeared. And not his usual, perverted "Honhonhon", but rather, a deep and throaty chuckle that sent England's heart fluttering in his chest. He wanted to argue, to start up a fight as a facade to cover his girlish emotions. He knew France would leave him soon anyway, just like he did any other fuck buddy. Actually he was surprised the Frenchman hadn't snuck away whilst he had still been sleeping. He turned his head to the side, snapping a bitter insult and trying to hide his blushing and emotions. France wasn't having any of that though.

"Ah-uh, Angleterre." He purred, those gentle fingertips caressing and tickling their way up the prominent vein in England's neck, before hooking under his chin and tilting the Englishman's face towards his. Soft lips collided with England's in a slow, lazy good morning kiss that belied the drunken passion of the night before. England's eyes went wide as France kissed him slowly, softly and tenderly. The blue eyed blonde pulled back, looking into England's eyes, hurt inside by the surprise they contained.

"Je t'aime, Angleterre." He whispered, peppering kisses over the Englishman's brow.

"Don't start that with me you bloody frog!" England slipped further into his shell of insults and anger, hoping it would protect him from the hurt and abandonment he would surely be faced with later. "You don't "love" anybody. You leave them! Now go ahead and leave already, you wanker! The sooner your perverted French arse is removed from my sight, the happier I'll be! So go!" France saw through the display with ease, translating every word with care. (Translation: I don't want you to leave me, but I'm sure you will anyway. So go already, before you hurt me any more than you already will.)

"Arthur…" England's heart stopped as France used his real name, his human name. He gave the other man his full, undivided attention.

"Arthur…Je chéris, et que j'adore, et je vous aime. Je ne te quitterai jamais. (I cherish, and adore, and love you. I will never leave you." France breathed into England's ear, nuzzling the smaller man gently. Having been neighbors for so long, England had learned enough French to translate the soft-spoken words of affection.

"Stop lying." The Brit growled.

"I'm not lying!" France insisted, kissing England's jaw softly before pulling back to look into leaf-green eyes.

"You are, wanker!" England was yelling now, the hurt he was feeling overwhelming him. Why was France still here? He was going to leave eventually, so why be cruel and draw out the pain. "You'll leave me…"

"Jamais(never), Angleterre. I'll tell you as many times as I have to, even a thousand times a day, every day for the rest of my life, if that's what it takes for you to believe me: I love you, and I'll never, ever leave you." The tender words combined with the look in France's eyes shattered England's façade. A few stray tears slipped down his cheeks.

"Francis…" He hiccupped slightly, fighting a loosing battle against the tears falling from his eyes.

"Je t'aime." Francis murmured, his gentle, warm hands wiping away some of the tears. Arthur wanted nothing more than to find the will to snap at the Frenchman, to call him horrible, horrible names and return to normality. Safe normality. Unfortunately, once one tear had been released, a hundred more followed, and he just couldn't stop them no matter how hard he tried. He began to sob quietly, ashamed of himself all the while.

Francis sat up, and the pain in Arthur's heart intensified. So he _was_ leaving then.

"Don't go…" Arthur said through his tears, feeling pathetic. He wasn't some girl, for Pete's sake! He was a man, and he shouldn't be acting like this! But he just couldn't hold it back anymore.

"I'm not going anywhere." Francis reassured him, pulling the other man onto his lap and wrapping his arms tightly around him. England stiffened in shock, before melting into the embrace, snuggling into France's chest as he cried. Francis held him close, cooing words of love in a mixture of French and English until the Brit's crying had stopped, one hand rubbing circles on England's back. Arthur finally managed to control his tears, but still couldn't find it in himself to pull away from Francis. He felt warm and loved and comfortable. Why push that away? Instead he simply tipped his head up to meet a warm, blue-eyed gaze. Francis smiled down at him, hands stilling on the small of the other man's back.

"I…I love you too, you bloody frog…" England said, blushing scarlet and trying to turn his face away. France cupped England's cheeks with both hands, thumbs wiping away the remaining tears, and turned his face towards him again.

This time, when France kissed him, England kissed him back. Green eyes drifted closed and his arms twined easily around Francis' neck. A warm tongue swept along England's bottom lip, and he opened his mouth to welcome its intrusion. Francis explored every inch of England's mouth thoroughly, kissing him deeper and deeper, until they both had surely turned purple from lack of air. As their mouths parted, France laid the two of them down, trapping England beneath him. Arthur groaned as lips descended on his skin once more, kissing and nipping every inch of his neck. As Francis found the soft spot in his lover's neck, England squirmed beneath him.

Francis continued downward, sucking on England's chest. He received loud moans and muffled curses as he sucked a dusty nipple into his mouth and bit down gently. France's hands wandered as well, kneading and rubbing the entirety of England's body. England gave a cat-like mewl and arched upwards as France stroked the small of his back, and moaned yet again as he rubbed over the slight muscles of the Brit's chest.

"Mmmm….Ah…Francis…" England moaned as France's lips and hands continued their assault on his senses, worshiping his skin lovingly. This was so much better than the drunken, careless and, at times, painful fucking of the night before. Arthur reached up to return the favors his Frenchman was doing for him, but his hands were stopped.

"Just lay back and let me love you." France purred in his ear. With a soft groan, England complied, laying back down amongst the pillows and surrendering to the warmth of France's touch. France continued to lavish his chest and abdomen with attention until England felt as if he would explode with impatience, nipping and refreshing the love marks left the night before, tracing muscle lines with kisses, dipping his tongue into his lover's bellybutton. England growled in frustration, but Francis just smirked up at him and continued lower. He traced the outline of England's hip bone with his tongue, making the man beneath him squirm even more and buck his hips upwards. Thighs were nipped, hips were kissed and both of them were getting impatient. Giving England's cock a teasing lick, France brought his face back up to England's, capturing the other man's lips in a searing French kiss.

As the first of France's fingers wiggled its way inside of him, England groaned and pushed against it eagerly. France thrust the finger in and out, pressing butterfly-kisses over England's nose, cheeks, chin and jaw, but always returning to his lips. England tangled his hands up in France's long, blonde hair, pulling their faces closer together. He marveled at how soft it felt, running it through his fingers and massaging the man's scalp a bit. France groaned in pleasure and added another finger. England winced a bit, but it didn't hurt too badly. As France added the third finger, England whimpered a bit more, trying to focus on kissing France rather than the pain.

Deciding his lover was stretched well enough, France removed his fingers and lined himself up, thrusting swiftly into a warm, _tight_ heat. England cried out in pain, clutching tightly at France's shoulders as he whimpered.

"Ahhh, Angleterre, so tiiiight…" France moaned in England's ear as he waited from the bottoming nation to be ready. "Let me know when it's ok to move." France peppered more kisses over England's neck as he waited, finally receiving a nod just when he thought he'd go mad.

"Ahnnn, Francis…you…can move now.." England groaned. Francis started out slowly, allowing the pain his Brit was experiencing to slowly melt into pleasure as the carefully thrust into him. Once the pain subsided, England rolled his hips against France's, meeting each thrust. France began to angle his thrusts, searching for the spot that would make the man beneath him scream. And he was not disappointed.

"FRANCIS!" England screamed as his prostate was struck dead on, flinging his legs around France's waist, one arm tightly around the other man's shoulders, the other above his head, hand clutching desperately at the sheets. Francis smirked again, thrusting hard into the same spot. England bucked against him and a rigorous pace was set.

"Nnn..hah..Fr…fra…haaaaah" England moaned loudly, his other arm wrapping around France's neck as well, hanging on for dear life. Each thrust hit harder and deeper within him and he felt as if he was going fall apart any second now. His body trembled around his lover's, and France's thrusts were becoming sporadic. One warm hand reached down to stroke England's dick, coaxing the island nation into reaching completion first. England threw back his head, eyes shut tight, and clutched tightly to Francis, screaming the other man's name, as Francis thrust roughly into him once more, striking hard against the Brit's prostate one final time as he filled him with his own release, England's name a mad cry on his lips.

France pressed gentle kisses to England's chest as they rode out their orgasms, before collapsing onto him with a sigh. Every shift of the Francis' hips caused jolts of red hot electricity to run through England's body, and he continued to tremble beneath his lover, breathing ragged. The smaller man let out a small moan as France pulled out of him, flopping tiredly down on the bed beside him.

"Je t'aime, Arthur." France declared for the umpteenth time that morning. England managed to mumble something almost unintelligible, but that sounded suspiciously like "love you too" before falling into a deep and easy sleep. France chuckled at the sight, shifting around so he could tuck his lover's head beneath his chin and wrap his arms securely around him, stroking his back until the rhythmic motion sent him into the realm of sleep as well.


End file.
